


Star Wars Rebels Ficlets: A to Z

by ottopop123



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: A to Z - Freeform, Ezra's terrible childhood, Homelessness, Hurt Ezra Bridger, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Hera Syndulla, Parental Kanan Jarrus, Young Ezra Bridger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottopop123/pseuds/ottopop123
Summary: A series of drabbles/ficlets about the crew of the Ghost, one for each letter of the alphabet. Each chapter is unrelated/they will be non-consecutive, so they can all be read on their own, but they will all take place in the SWR's timeline.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. A: Adaptable, Adjust, Ashamed, Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty nervous about this one, but here it is! Each chapter will be a stand alone fic, prompted by a word beginning with the next letter of the alphabet. Chapter 1 is A, chapter 2 is B, and so forth. 
> 
> They all might not be this length, some may be shorter/longer, but I want to hold myself accountable to doing this!
> 
> This one serves as a character study for Ezra :)

A: Adaptable, Adjust, Ashamed, Acceptance

If someone were to ask Ezra what his most valuable skill was, most would guess that he would answer with his ability to use the Force or one of the varying skills that come along with being a Jedi. That would be a fair assumption, and, maybe, in front of the right people, he might respond that way, but the Force hasn’t always been a tool he was capable of controlling and using for his benefit. Buried deep, with the type of honesty only a profound level of critical self-examination provides, he knows that the truest answer wouldn’t have anything to do with being a Jedi. He knows that the skill that has provided him with the most success and protection is his ability to adapt to whatever environment he is placed in.

Whether it be in a rough group of street kids, a period of solitude and loneliness with no one to communicate with, or even a friendly group of rebels, Ezra will always attribute his survival to his talent of being adaptable. Ezra knows how he grew up wasn’t normal, and never should be for anyone, but he figures you can’t live that sort of life without being able to adjust quickly to new conditions. Though Ezra knows that this skill has ultimately led him to survive the horrors of his childhood, he’s ashamed to admit it hasn’t always been a capability he’s cherished.

Part of being adaptable is forcing yourself to accept conditions that might not be desirable or even livable, and Ezra had learned this quickly in the days after his parents' disappearance. Ezra can remember the feeling of his mind resisting it’s shift in perspective, and how changing his behavior to adhere to his circumstances felt like a personal concession. As a newly parentless child, Ezra rapidly became aware of the realities of the lifestyle of being a seven year old who needed to provide for himself. When the food ran out at his parents house a week or two after that fateful Empire day, and when Tseebo was nowhere to be found, Ezra had steeled himself to go out into the city to look for food. His first attempt was unsuccessful, he had avoided the markets out of fear of having to see patrolling stormtroopers - like the ones that dragged his mom and dad away - and he instead tried to plead familiar faces for food. Most of his parents’ acquaintances or friends, ones who had likely heard what had happened, were outwardly uneasy to be seen with him for fear of being associated with anti-Empire activity and had shooed him away. Later that day, he had returned to his parents house empty-handed and empty-bellied as well as beyond discouraged. The next day, with a kind of desperation that Ezra now knows is solely associated with severe hunger, he had set out once again to look for food, still with the intention of avoiding the markets. When it was nearing sundown and dinnertime, Ezra had happened upon an alley behind a small restaurant. He watched in the shadows as one of the staff tossed a full trash bag into a dumpster. He had spent the whole day wandering throughout the city looking for a friendly face who might take pity on him and spare him some food, but without luck and his hunger had now reached the point where it was painful. He stood there frozen - his mind in the midst of a war of combating choices and competing ideologies. 

Out of necessity, Ezra quickly accustomed himself to the new actions he needed to take to survive, despite the fact that so many of the changes he made felt like a compromise to his integrity. In that trash bag, he would find food, food that, admittedly, was once someone else’s and probably partially eaten, but not super old. On the other hand, he could hear his parents and his teacher’s voices telling him food in the trash was dirty and not meant to be eaten. Ezra remembers having stood there for minutes, debating if he was at the point of admitting to himself that he was desperate enough to eat from the trash. Eventually, his hunger won and he resigned himself to finding nourishment from whatever leftovers he could, but remembers the burn of shame on his skin as he devoured someone’s discarded meal. Ezra remembers that as the first time he taught himself to adapt, but it wasn’t the last; his life would soon force him into a series of similar decisions that would put him in situations where he had to go against what he was taught was proper or correct in order to conform to the circumstances of his environment. 

It was hard to look at his situation externally, being a young child, he had not yet acquired the skills to look critically at himself and the validity of his actions in relation to his situation. He only knew what he had been taught by his parents: what was right and what was wrong according to the knowledge that had passed onto him before their arrest. Two weeks after the trash incident, Ezra left his house to live elsewhere. After becoming incredibly ill from eating something else from the trash, for the first time in his life, Ezra stole. It wasn’t anything harsh, only a jogan and a packet of Lothalian sun nuts, but Ezra’s mind fought the same battle as from the night in the alley. On the one hand, the food he was getting from the trash simply wasn’t enough. On the other hand, he could remember his parents warning him that stealing was wrong, and that he mustn't take things that aren’t his. With tears of guilt pouring from his eyes and holding the jogan pit and the empty packet in his hand, Ezra imagined his parents' reaction to what he had done. Surely, they wouldn’t approve? In the moments that followed, Ezra was struck by a moment of clarity and finality: _his parents were gone and they probably were not going to come back anytime soon. He was going to need to steal again if he wanted to eat. There was no other option._ That night he packed whatever belongings he could carry into his backpack and left his home for good. He couldn’t linger between the two versions of his life. He couldn’t do what he needed to do to survive while being constantly reminded of the life he once had, and the boy he was before. It was one of the hardest things Ezra had ever done, but it was a lesson in acceptance and compromise - to his new normal.

Adaptability was not a skill that could be taught from a book or a lecture, Ezra had learned that the hard way. Adaptability was a kind of competence that you could only gain through doing, even if the ‘doing’ wasn’t something you choose for yourself. During those first few months on the street, he had resented himself for changing, for no longer being the person he thought he was meant to be, for compromising the morals his parents had worked to teach him. But now, as Ezra looks back on those first few weeks wherein the lesson of how to adjust to a new environment was hammered into him, he knows it to be an invaluable skill, and not a personal compromise. It is a trait he knows is rare and has strengthened him to find his place among his new family. It is also how he found his place within the Rebellion, and it aided him to be a better Jedi. If he hadn’t developed this skill within himself, he never would have lived long enough to meet Kanan, Hera, Zeb, and Sabine, or to fulfill his parents dream’s and sacrifice of freeing Lothal. It is also the reason he is not afraid of what lies ahead, he knows whatever happens, he will adapt and he will survive. So as the purgill in front of him begin to shimmer and glow, and he begins to feel the purgill pull Thrawn’s star destroyer into hyperspace and towards the unknown, he feels no fear, only acceptance. He knows he is as prepared as one could be for what lies ahead, just as he knows that he will survive and that he can be patient and wait to see his family once again.


	2. B: bacta, blind, broken, balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inspo for this chapter came from an anon ask prompt on my tumblr, "For a fic prompt, could you possibly write something about Ezra being injured and the medbay and Kanan and Hera are waiting for him to wake up/are worrying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: medical talk (nothing to gory or graphic though), non graphic mention of injury

The Medbay was not a quiet place, Kanan decided. He took in his surroundings from his place in his chair, in the corner of the small Medbay that was designated for waiting. He could hear the medics bustle around chatting and moving from one patient to another, the medical droids zooming around looking for their next task or procedure, and the medical equipment and machinery hum and creak while they carried out their functions. He could hear the beeping and chattering of binary from the droids, and the medics’ attempt at a hushed conversation. To Kanan, it seemed ironic that a place for healing and resting would be so incredibly noisy, but then again, he was probably more sensitive to it than most. He found that the loss of his vision had forced his other senses to adapt and subsequently become more sensitive to compensate for the loss of his eyesight.

The scent of bacta was thick in the air. So thick, in fact, Kanan could feel it burn his nostrils as he breathed in. The scent provided almost an instant headache, and his stomach churned as it reminded him of agonizing memories, in this very Medbay, from his recovery after returning from Malachor. Nothing eased the effect of the smell, it was something that was burned into his memory unchangeable. Even breathing through his mouth was only a half solution, the odor was so saturated and overwhelmed the air that he could almost taste it. Kanan wondered how the medics were able to work here all day. They probably become desensitized to it, he thought, too much time spent alongside it to let it bother them anymore. Kanan hoped he wouldn’t have to spend enough time in this overwhelming environment to even get near the point of getting used to it. 

Kanan felt like a raw nerve, exposed and vulnerable. There was a lot to try to keep track of through the Force, and though he had grown accustomed to using the Force to guide himself through life, right now it was taking extra concentration to center himself. He was feeling everything too keenly. He jumped as he felt someone brush his side accidentally, sitting down in the seat next to him. Hera, he thought. He felt her hand slip into his and squeeze. He returned the gesture, squeezing back with equal pressure. He waited for her to speak first. 

“The medical droid says if all has gone well in surgery that they should be finished soon. He’ll probably be put in a bacta tank for a day or two, depending on how well the surgery goes. They didn’t have any other information to give us.” She stated quietly. Kanan just nodded and tightened his grip on her hand. They sat in silence for several minutes, and Kanan once again became ambushed by the chaos of the medbay.

He prided himself on his ability to remain calm in stressful situations, something that had been hammered into him during his upbringing at the Jedi Temple, but, at the moment, he could feel himself begin to drift from those teachings. Somewhere in Medbay, his padawan, his son in everything but blood, was lying broken and exposed on a table in an operating room, with several surgeons working hard to save his life. He needed to find his balance and his center, but he didn’t know how to do that when he was teetering on the edge of losing everything. 

He should’ve been on the mission, Kanan scolded himself. He should have been there to look out for Ezra, to protect him from what he hadn’t learned yet or from the hate of the Empire. Force knows no one ever did that for Ezra before Kanan was around. Kanan could even fathom imaging the possibility of losing Ezra now. That’s not how it was supposed to go, children were not supposed to go before their parents, it’s against the natural laws of the universe. 

Hera spoke up suddenly. “Stop,” she said sharply. “I know you. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Kanan responded, genuinely confused.

“You’re blaming yourself. I can see it all over your face. This is not your fault or my fault. The Empire. They did this,” she hissed, her anger a white hot presence in the Force. He just hummed in agreement and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

Several more minutes passed, it was hard to tell how long they sat there not speaking, just waiting. It could’ve been five minutes or an hour. Kanan really couldn’t tell. He felt Hera stiffen next to him and sit up straighter, and through the noise of the Medbay, he could hear footsteps getting louder and moving towards them. Together they both stood to greet the medic.

“He’s alive and he made it through the surgery. It was touch and go for a while, and his heart arrested once on the table, but we were able to successfully revive him and repair his internal injuries,” explained the medic. Kanan let out a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding, and slid back into his seat, nauseated and tortured by the knowledge that his padawan’s heart had stopped. 

Hera’s voice shook as she found the strength to speak. “Thank you so much. Will there be any long term effects? Any lasting issues we need to know about? And can we see him?”

“He will, hopefully, make a full recovery,” responded the medic. “There is a very small possibility that there could be some neurological deficits caused by lack of oxygen to his brain during the time that his heart stopped. But, in my professional opinion, I think that possibility is extremely low due to how quick we were able to restart his heart, but we won’t know until he wakes up. Otherwise, he is young and strong, and it is expected that he should recover just fine. though he will need to take it easy and rest for a few weeks. Right now, we have him immersed in a bacta tank to ensure a speedy recovery. I can take you both to see him if you like.”

Hera let out a cry of relief and happiness and she bent down to tackle Kanan in a desperate embrace. He returned it with equal ferocity, almost numb with relief. If the situation wasn’t so dire and serious, Kanan maybe might have made a joke and pointed out just how mom Hera was being. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so, just, not funny. The tears were evident in Hera’s voice when she responded that yes, they would like to go be with him, but Kanan was not one to judge. He knew if he had functioning tear ducts, he would’ve been bawling minutes ago.

The medic led them out the door and into a big open room adjacent to where they just waited. Kanan could sense a few medical technicians and droids fluttering around doing their jobs, but his focus immediately snapped to the muted-but-thankfully-still-there presence of Ezra that was emitting from what was presumably inside the bacta tank in the center of the room. While Kanan was his usual brand of stoic and silent, next to him Hera let out a half-suppressed, choked gasp. The medic respectfully excused himself to give them space, telling them he would be in his office if they needed anything.

Beside him, Kanan heard Hera let out another water breath, and he felt her struggle in the Force to contain herself and her emotions. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side, prompting her to lean into him. It was just as much for his support as it was for hers. It would be okay, they could be unbalanced together. 

Hera shook under his arm, and he felt her lose a bit of the emotional battle she had been fighting. He heard the small plops of tears as they slipped off her chin and made contact with their clothing. He squeezed her a little tighter and whispered reassurances that Ezra would be okay, trying his best to be comforting, but certainly feeling like he was failing. Kanan was hovering between a mix of not knowing what to say and navigating his own residual numbness, shock, and terror from the terrifying moments when he hadn’t known if he still had a living son or not.

After a minute or two of silence between them, Hera, always the most verbal with her emotions, spoke up. “Kanan, he - he,” she was cut off involuntarily by a forceful sob. She attempted to gather herself and start again. “He - just - he looks s-so young,” she whispered, her words choppily cut apart by sobs. “And so f-fragile, in there. The tank is so b-big and - and he just looks so small.” She finished her sentence, and abandoned any premise of maintaining her composure by dissolving into quiet, but powerful tears. She turned away from the sight of their kid in the tank and leaned into him fully, pressing her wet face into his sweater. 

Kanan couldn’t or didn’t have the capacity to imagine what she was looking at. He couldn’t bring his mind to produce that image for him. But, for the very first time in the eight months since becoming blind, he didn’t actively wish for his sight back. At this point, Kanan had mostly accepted his blindness, and had learned to lead his life without sight. But, typically the most emotional moments with his family were the moments he truly wished for his vision. But not right now. He knew that the scene in front of them would be seared into Hera’s memory for life, but something deep inside him, he realized guiltily, was relieved he couldn’t see it. Relieved, because, maybe, he hoped, this way the image wouldn't haunt him. That he wouldn’t go to sleep at night and dream of it, or freeze in the midst of a firefight for fear of seeing it again. Just in that fleeting moment, he felt grateful. Grateful that he didn’t have to see what Hera was seeing, Ezra hurt and broken, and suspended in bacta while connected to a million wires. Grateful that Ezra was going to recover. Grateful for more moments with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what y'all think!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments fuel writing :) and are really the key to helping me stay motivated to update.
> 
> I have a tumblr it's @followtheowls , feel free to give it a follow, I post about swr and sometimes updates on my writing <3


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